Puff, Puff, Pass
by LaLaManfro
Summary: Harry's POV. "Why are you here?" My voice felt so loud compared to the silence I hadn't noticed until after I spoke. "Company."


**ONESHOT**

**Title:** Puff Puff Pass  
**Author:** BloodRoses1619  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Pairings:** Harry/Draco  
**Dedication:** None  
**Disclaimer: **Nothing is mine. Meow.  
**Summary:** Harry's POV. _"Why are you here?"_

_My voice felt so loud compared to the silence I hadn't noticed until after I spoke._

"_Company."_

**A/N: **Um. So since I went to see Deathly Hallows part 2 I have been wanting to write a fan fiction. It just reminded me of how obsessed I used to be with Harry Potter and damnit I haven't written in so long. I have been reading the shit out of my old fics, and I had so many, and, God, some of them were so bad, especially the Harry Potter ones. But I'm finishing a 40 ounce of beer by myself and I am rearing and ready to go. Let's get those creative juices flowing. BOOYAH.

"_Hello …?" _

_Hesitant._

_Silence._

"_Oy, Potter."_

_The fuck._

"_Malfoy?"_

"_Yeah."_

_Silence._

"_What do you want?"_

"_Where are you …?"_

_Silence._

"_Ron's."_

"_Can I floo?"_

…

"_Yeah."_

I suppose I was just curious as to why exactly Draco Malfoy wanted to floo to me that late in the evening, while most everyone else was asleep, and I didn't even really know where the voice was coming from until I lazily got up and searched through the pile of clothes in the corner that were a mix of laundry and ready-to-wear and found my wand, a tiny bulb of light flickering at the top, sort of like a Muggle cellular telephone might, and I hadn't even known wands could do that sort of thing. But in an instant I heard footsteps coming up the creaky stairs and I hoped no one had heard him, throwing on a tee shirt and pajama pants and going to open the door, as I assumed Malfoy wouldn't know which room was which. He had, as far as I was aware, never been to the Weasley's before.

We exchanged a silent glance before I stepped aside to let him into the spare room that the Weasleys had now officially declared my own, for good, shutting the door after him, clad all in black, as usual, his hair as neatly done as it had always been, and I never thought I would have to see his sorry pale mug again after the war had ended and we'd all gone our separate ways. He seemed to assume himself at home as he took a seat at my desk, the lights in the room still off, but the moon giving enough light from outside for it to be visually comfortable, and I followed suit, returning to my bed, but this time planting myself on the edge of it, facing him, and watching him pull something out of his pocket and place them on the desk … a few things, actually, that I couldn't quite identify from where I was sitting. "What's that …?"

"Muggle drugs," he answered, and I didn't answer, more preoccupied with the fact that he was doing Muggle _anything_ as opposed to being concerned that he had just brought Muggle drugs into the Weasleys' house and was apparently planning on using them. He unfolded what looked like a small, thin, piece of parchment and carefully spilled what was left of the contents of a dime bag into it in a neat line. To be frank, it looked like chopped up, dried spinach, though of course I knew it was nothing of the sort. He rolled the parchment tightly and carefully around the spinach and flicked his wand to conjure a flame at the tip, brushing it along the bottom of whatever he was making, before sticking it in his mouth and lighting it up, like a cigarette … a spinach cigarette …

After pulling at it a few times he held it out to me, the stench strong and unpleasant. "Want some?" his voice was thick with the smoke that he was still holding in his lungs before he let it go, and I shook my head, to which he looked over at the door and charmed it so the smell wouldn't get out; a fine plan if I ever saw one.

It was quiet for a few minutes, and I listened to the clock in my room tick, seemingly much louder than it ever had before, cracking the silence gracefully. It was almost 4 o'clock in the morning, and I still didn't really understand why Malfoy had come to see me, and I failed to believe the only thing he wanted was to do Muggle drugs with me, so I waited for him to say something before I interjected his next long pull of the cigarette. "What do you want?"

Malfoy closed his eyes and let the smoke escape from his lungs organically, making it look creamy and almost appetizing, and he held up his creation, "Are you sure you don't want some?" he asked again, "It will calm your tits so I don't have to tell you to."

And I hoped to Jesus he didn't come over here just to do Muggle drugs and be a bitch about it. But I reached forward and took it from him anyway, turning it slightly in my hand and putting it to my lips lightly and pulling; I had never smoked anything before, so I could only assume what you did with it once it was in your lungs, and I held it there for a second before I started coughing, "What is it?"

"Marijuana," Malfoy took the thing back and pulled at it, savoring every bit of it, while he watched me grab the glass of water that was next to my bed and take a sip.

"Is it supposed to burn your throat?" Because it was certainly burning mine.

Malfoy smiled his smile, but he didn't say anything, and I just accepted it, taking another, bigger, sip of the lukewarm liquid that was just about the only thing keeping me from gagging, but before I knew it the spinach cigarette – er, marijuana cigarette – was in my face again, and I just looked at Malfoy questioningly.

"Puff-Puff-Pass, Potter."

_Oh. So it's some kind of Muggle game too._

I took it from him again, inhaling a little more slowly this time, carefully breathing in the smoke, and blowing it out just as slowly, taking my time between 'Puff's. He seemed content there, just sitting in my room, in the dark, and I watched him silently, his eyes closed and his head tilted back slightly, like he was imagining something wonderful and couldn't be bothered, my hand subconsciously bringing the cigarette back to my lips and I pulled at it the same way I had just a moment ago, my eyes still fixed on him, and I had forgotten about him not answering my inquiry regarding his being here in the first place.

He looked the same.

"You are bloody well baked out of your mind."

I blinked, "Baked?"

"High, Potter," he said, grinning and taking the cigarette from me, "You're high."

I didn't say anything and continued to look at him. I suppose I just didn't really know how to take him in, Malfoy, because I had never just sat with him like this before; we had never _hung out_ or anything like that, so seeing him like this, while he looked the same and sounded the same, it was very different than when we were spitting insults and spells at each other, or just well glaring. It was normal. It was even right _comfortable_.

I blinked at his mouth as he pulled and my eyes traveled to his fingers, delicate as ever, his nails perfect and his knuckles smooth and formed, the rest of his arms always seeming to be hidden behind whatever variation of black he had decided to don that day. He 'Pass'ed and gave me a once over, and I wondered why my head felt so flighty. "Feeling good?" I nodded, and he smiled, leaning back in the chair, the spinach cigarette now dwindled to a little more than a comfortable pinch between the fingers, and after I was finished with it I 'Pass'ed it carefully back for the last time, watching Malfoy 'take it to his face', as I later learned it was called. He made sure it was dead and left it on the desk before turning and looking at me, just looking, and I just looked back, my brain strange and everything sort of wonderful.

More so than not ever just 'hanging out', Malfoy and I had never talked about anything that happened over our 7 years at Hogwarts, and suddenly I found myself wondering if he felt any remorse for what he did, or if he just accepted it like I just accepted his being here with me and having just smoked a spinach-marijuana-Muggle-drug cigarette, which reminded me—"Why are you here?"

My voice felt so loud compared to the silence I hadn't noticed until after I spoke.

"Company."

It didn't seem necessary any more to respond, or really do anything, and I just felt like going back to bed, but I knew that would make me a very bad host, so I continued to just accept, and it felt fine. Everything felt fine.

I watched Malfoy stand up, and I don't remember how much time had passed between when he spoke and when he stood up, but it felt like an eternity, and it also felt like an eternity watching him move sluggishly to where I was sitting, his legs suddenly on either side of mine, and everything was slow, and everything felt fine, and my eyes closed instinctively at the hand brushing back through my hair and rubbing, rubbing … If I could have kept his hand there I would have, because it felt so good to be touched in my hair, more than it had ever felt before, and I felt detached from the world when my eyes were closed like that, and another eternity before his delicate fingers slithered down to my neck, massaging, and I sighed, knowing he knew how nice it all felt.

And his breath startled me, but my body didn't have the capacity to jolt before I leaned into his lips, soft, but hard, wet, marshmallow with a dash of Muggle drugs.

And there was no part of me that really wanted to say no to kissing my sworn enemy, the man who made a lot of my life a living Hell, and I wasn't even sure there was a sober part of me that really wanted to say no either.


End file.
